


Never Forget

by equivalent_exchange



Series: Pins and Needles - Who You Are [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Piercings, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24141802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equivalent_exchange/pseuds/equivalent_exchange
Summary: It’s a good feeling, to hear the joy of the foundlings, for them to be able to run carefree and safe amongst the tribe. A surge of pride fills Din’s chest. One day, those children they’ve saved will swear the Creed, like he did, and become the warriors they were meant to be, and in turn, they will adopt more foundlings and carry on the traditions of their people.This is the Way.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune, Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Pins and Needles - Who You Are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742176
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Never Forget

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back to bore you to tears! 😉
> 
> This fic is inspired by this amazing Din [fan art](https://supremeratenergy.tumblr.com/image/616020726077702144)!
> 
> As usually, this took over my life when I should've been doing something else.
> 
> The whole idea behind this fic was supposed to be a one-shot, but then again, when do I ever really meet those expectations...

The clank of Din’s helmet echoes throughout the room as he places the beskar on the tabletop. His blood is thrumming, pulsing so loudly he can hear it in his ears; the adrenaline still pumping through his system in excitement.

His first mission as team leader was a success.

Everyone made it back alive with minimal injuries and damage. His _buir_ was behind him the whole time, trusting the younger Mandalorian to take the lead, putting the years of training to the test and proving his strength. Granted, it wasn’t the most difficult mission in history, but it was a start.

They were able to rid the village of the warlord’s control and save most of the villagers. Interrupting their slave ring had just been an added benefit of overtaking their stronghold.

Their new, but temporary, home is well fortified and stocked. Din and his _aliit_ could stay for a few weeks before moving on, can plan their next move before heading back to Mandalore.

Loud footsteps and laughter sound from the hallway, interrupting his thoughts, and Din turns his head towards the noise.

It’s a good feeling, to hear the joy of the foundlings, for them to be able to run carefree and safe amongst the tribe. A surge of pride fills Din’s chest. One day, those children they’ve saved will swear the Creed, like he did, and become the warriors they were meant to be, and in turn, they will adopt more foundlings and carry on the traditions of their people.

_This is the Way._

He begins undressing, carefully removing plates and pauldrons and setting them aside before pulling off his clothes. Walking to the fresher, he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck from side to side, trying to work out the knots. After a quick shower, Din climbs into bed, the moonlight shining brightly through the skylight above him. A warm breeze fills his room, smelling faintly of the trees and stale wet leaves just outside the window.

The young man’s bare face looks to the pale crescent moon, his thoughts drifting to the foundlings, to when he was found.

It’s been over 13 years now, since that fateful day. When one part of his life ended, and another began.

He’s no longer that little boy cowering in a bunker waiting for the sounds of explosions and blaster fire to stop.

Leaving his homeworld behind was the most difficult thing he had to do. He watched as everything and everyone grew smaller while he clung to his rescuer with all his might as they flew through the smoky sky. The sounds and smells and images of destruction and death forever seared into Din’s memory.

But the more he tries to remember of his childhood, before the Mandalorians, the less he can recall.

Din closes his eyes and concentrates, wracking his brain for something, anything.

Fleeting flashes of deep red and voices filter through his mind, but he can’t grasp them. Just when he thinks he has a hold on something concrete, the memory slips through his fingers. The feelings though, those cut through the fog and confusion clearer than anything else. He can’t pinpoint when the exact memory occurred, but hazy images of his mother’s smiling face and looking up to his father while a large hand ruffles his hair fill his thoughts.

They were happy, the three of them – a mother, father, and son. Living their lives tucked away in a quiet corner of the galaxy.

The Mandalorian can feel the pressure building behind his eyes, and he sits up in his bed before the tears can form.

Looking around his room, Din’s eyes fall on his helmet, shining softly in moonlight. Rising from his bed, he silently picks up the metal, running a hand over the smoothed and polished surface reflecting a distorted image. Staring back at him is a man with a strong square jaw and big dark eyes.

He wonders if they would be proud of him, of who he is now, of the person he’s grown to be without them.

\----

Over the next few days the tribe had settled into the stronghold, giving them a sense of normalcy.

So far no one has retaliated against them since they’ve claimed the compound, and the villagers express their gratitude with small offerings of fresh fruits and vegetables for the warriors. While not enough to feed the whole tribe and new foundlings, the gesture is greatly appreciated.

Din’s noticed that the children they’ve saved are having trouble adjusting to their presence, but he understands, their lives have been completely upended, either abandoned or the lone survivor of a family killed by the warlord and its pawns.

Changing hands from a gang of alien thugs to a sea of metallic faces can be jarring.

One child in particular stands out to him, every morning after breakfast, on his way to the complete his rounds, he spots a little human girl. She always sits in the same corner of the common room, her little blonde head and stuffed toy following his movements as he walks by.

With another regular day ahead of him, Din finishes his meal and heads toward the common room, and as expected, the little girl with her messy pigtails is rooted in the same spot.

This time, before passing her, the Mandalorian stops and gives her a slight nod of his head. His lips quirk in a small smile as the little girl squeaks in surprise before hiding her face behind her stuffed toy, her blush of surprise turning her ears red. As he continues on his way toward his scouting partner waiting at the entrance, Din thinks he hears a quiet laugh from behind him followed by a quick shuffling of feet.

\----

Sometime later after returning from his mission, Din finds himself sitting outside the compound, his back resting against the metallic wall. The sun is bright, but not overwhelming with the clouds passing by, and the gentle wind carries the sweet smell of the surrounding flowers and herbs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a head peeking from around a tree on his left. Turning, he catches her eyes and nods in greeting before moving back to the view of the village down below. He doesn’t have to wait long before the sound of crunching leaves grows louder with her approaching footsteps. When the sounds stop, he finds that she’s standing an arm’s length away, face hiding behind that stuffed Hutt toy, hugging it tight.

Judging from her size, Din guesses she’s about six or seven years old. Younger than he was when he was orphaned, and the thought tugs at his heart.

Meeting her gaze, he nods once more before speaking, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe. My name is Din.”

Slowly she sits next to him, still an arm’s length away, but more relaxed; no longer hiding her face. Instead of turning to the village like him, she sits cross-legged to him.

They sit in an awkward silence.

For all his training and experience, nothing had prepared him for this. Conversing with children wasn’t something he did often, and on the rare occasion it did happen, he cringed beneath his helmet the entire time.

So, he tries an easy question, “What’s your name?”

“Vitani,” she says quietly.

“Vitani,” Din repeats back to her, nodding in confirmation.

Another awkward silence follows, and he internally groans. It would be easier if she were the one asking questions, but it seems that wasn’t going to be the case.

“How old are you, Vitani?”

At this, her eyes light up, nearly as bright as the sun shining down on them. The girl excitedly holds both hands up, indicating she was seven years old, “This many! Mommy says I’m a big girl now!”

Something flashes across her face and she immediately crumples, lowering her hands to grip her toy, hugging it to her chest and fiddling with one of her earrings. Din can hear faint sniffling and sees how her eyes have taken on a light sheen.

“I – I mean, she used to say that. Be – before the bad men took me,” she says sadly.

He swallows imperceptibly, unsure of how to respond. Din wasn’t used to dealing with these kinds of reactions from others, let alone a child.

“I see,” he says simply.

“Mr. Din, are – are they gone now? The bad men who hurt Mommy and took me and the other kids away?” she asks, her question carrying a hint of fear.

Din shifts, angling his body to face her slightly. He’s quiet for a moment, considering how to explain their situation without scaring her. He remembers how overwhelming everything was those first few days, how every new piece of information he learned seemed so difficult to comprehend.

“Yes, those men are gone now. We… killed them… and freed you and the other children. You and the others, you’re our responsibility now.”

Vitani nods slowly. When she asks her next question, he can barely hear it over the wind and crinkling of dry leaves and grass.

“That means Mommy is dead, doesn’t it?”

Din turns his face away, “I’m sorry. I understand how you feel, more than you know.”

Her brow furrows at his comment, connecting the dots in her mind.

“Your mommy is dead too, Mr. Din?” she asks softly.

She was perceptive, he admits to himself, but like all those who’ve lost loved ones to war and violence, it came at a cost. Sometimes naivety wasn’t an option.

Nodding his confirmation, “Yes, both my mother and my father. The Mandalorians saved me back then, too. I was only a little older than you when they found me, and I’ve been with them ever since.”

“Do you still remember them? Your mommy and daddy?”

The question catches him off guard, and he can’t help as his body freezes in response.

It comes back to him all of a sudden, a memory he kept locked away in the far reaches of his mind.

For safe keeping or to forget, he doesn’t know.

Din’s voice is hoarse, rough and laced with a hint of the emotion he’s kept buried for most of his life. The words spilling from his mouth before he can stop them.

“My mother was beautiful, smart and loving. She was the center of my world. Anything I ever did, I did for her, to make her happy, to see her smile and hear her laugh. My father, he was strong and brave, but gentle. I told myself that when I grow up, I wanted to be just like him so I could always take care of my mother and keep her safe.”

Vitani can’t see the faraway look in Din’s eyes, hidden beneath his helmet.

“I remember, every year, our quiet little town would celebrate Life Day. My father would build some of the decorations while mother helped the neighbors prepare the food. We didn’t have enough money to have our own stall, but it was enough to lend a hand where it was needed. They would tell me that it wasn’t so much about the material things, but about being a part of something bigger, about being together and sharing what we had with others, whenever we could.”

Din pauses, licking his lips and swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing.

“We always wore deep red robes for the festival. They were our nicest clothes, but I wasn’t particularly fond of the color. Mother told me that red represents life, the passion and pain and love that shapes each person as they grow,” he explains, his voice now barely a whisper on the wind.

Turning back to his companion, Din sees her hugging her toy Hutt with one arm, the other drawing scribbles in the dirt, face downcast as he concludes his story.

“They sound really nice…” she offers.

“They were,” he replies faintly.

Then she’s fiddling with an earring again, and Din’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“Those earrings, were they a gift from your mother?” he asks, head cocked slightly to the side, noting how the jewel catches the light.

“Mmhmm. Mommy gave them to me for my birthday, and I found Squishy hiding in a box after you killed all the bad men.”

“I see.”

“Mr. Din, I can keep them, right? They – they won’t take my earrings away from me, will they? If I go with you and the others?” Vitani pleads, her eyes as big as moons as she waits for his answer.

Din lifts his hands to her in a surrendering gesture, trying to calm her nerves and show he wasn’t a threat.

“Vitani, no one is going to take anything away from you, I promise,” he says gently, “I was only asking because I was curious. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

The girl sniffles and wipes her nose on her hand before lifting her head to the man again.

“They’re the only thing I have now. Mommy had some too, and she was so happy because we matched. She said I looked like a princess, that I was her little princess.”

All the young man has left of his parents are his memories. He hates that there’s a tiny part of him that’s jealous of her, to have something concrete and solid of her mother to hold onto.

Sighing, Din considers her carefully, he may not have much experience with children, but even he can tell when reassuring words matter more than anything.

He tells her kindly, “Then you should cherish them. Hold onto those for as long as you can. Whatever happens, it’s important to remember where you came from. I think she would be very proud of you. You’re very brave, Vitani. A lot of things have happened to you, many sad and scary things. If you choose to stay with us, there will be many more changes, but we _will_ keep you safe.”

His vambrace beeps, catching their attention, and Din slowly rises to his feet with Vitani following suit.

“I have to go now. I’m needed in the village,” he says apologetically.

“But you’re coming back, right? Mr. Din?”

She’s clutching Squishy tightly to her chest and looking up at him with trepidation in her eyes.

He isn’t sure of what to do, he’s needed elsewhere, but he can’t leave her like this. She’s already lost her mother and was nearly sold into slavery. He can’t blame her for wanting to cling to him, to anyone really.

After a moment, something clicks, and Din carefully crouches down to one knee. He’s nearly eye level with the girl now, and he can see her lip tremble in addition to the runny nose.

Din places his hand atop Vitani’s head and ruffles her hair affectionately. Earning him a giggle and sniffle before she pushes his hand away playfully, a toothy smile spreading across her face.

He can’t help the small tug on the corners of his mouth.

“You’ll see me again tomorrow. I’ll be out late, but I wouldn’t miss breakfast. Maybe you can try to play with the other foundlings? Try to make some new friends?”

“O – ok, I’ll try. Do you think they’ll want to play tag with me?” she asks, her face beaming in excitement.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask, will you?”

“…I guess not.”

“Good. I think I can smell lunch cooking, why don’t you go? Eat enough for both of us, ok?” he comments, rising to his feet with a pained grunt and placing a hand on his hip.

“Ok! Me and Squishy are hungry!”

“Better get going then. Oh, and Vitani, just – um, just call me Din, ok?”

The little girl with pigtails bounces on her feet enthusiastically, “Just make sure you come back!”

Nodding to her one last time, he then turns on his heel, making his way towards his speeder bike.

\----

It’s nearing sunset when Din and his _buir_ return to the outskirts of the village.

Hopping off his bike, the younger man shakes his head at his _buir’s_ questioning tilt of the helmet.

“ _Ni linibar at slanar at te market. Slanar norac ures ni,_ ” Din explains.

“ _Meh gar sirbur bid. Jate bora ibi'tuur_.”

With that, _Buir_ nods before kicking the speeder bike into gear and taking off down the main road, his cloak trailing after him.

Taking on a leadership role within the tribe was a difficult process, but Din gravitates to it naturally. To hear praise from the tribe leader filled him with such pride, to know that someone recognizes his strength.

The young man is eerily calm for a Mandalorian, preferring to quietly assess the situation before engaging. For someone with limited field experience, this works immensely to his advantage, to keep a distance from his enemies then bring them in close on his terms.

Din isn’t the strongest physically, far from it, but he isn’t weak by means. He’s a natural strategist, what he lacks in physicality, he tries to make up for in tactics.

But he constantly reminds himself not to let his ego get the better of him. One successful mission and a decent head on your shoulders will never compare to a lifetime on the field. Simulations and theories will only do so much.

Experience is the best teacher, after all.

Clearing his thoughts, Din hoists his pack over his shoulder before venturing towards the market and its various vendors.

He keeps a look out for fresh fruit stalls as he casually weaves his way through the throngs of wandering villagers.

The streets are livelier now that the warlord is dead, and he’s glad that they were able to do this for them, to give them the freedom to live their lives in peace.

They leave for Mandalore in a few weeks, and he wonders what will happen after. Din wonders what happens to any of the cities and towns and villages when their presence fades. Will a new oppressor claim what they’ve saved, or do they continue to thrive in peace?

For as much as he wonders, he’s aware that he’ll never know, not really.

Din finally reaches a stall selling a variety of fresh berries, and an elderly woman rises up from her seat to greet him with glee.

“Mandalorian! Welcome, welcome! Please have a taste, these are the best in the village. You won’t find anything better; I promise!” waving her hands, showcasing her products.

Din laughs to himself at her enthusiasm. For a woman barely tall enough to reach his shoulders, she makes up her lack of stature in personality.

Nodding his greeting, Din’s eyes take in the plentiful selection. He spots his favorite blue and pink berries quickly as well as a strange, almost triangular shaped bright red berry, tiny seeds littering the skin and green leaves sprouting from the flat end.

“May I?” he asks, pointing to the strange red berries.

“Oh, yes of course. Have a taste!” she exclaims, picking a single piece with her metal tongs and holding it out to him.

Din gingerly takes it and reaches under the rim of his helmet, biting into the sweet fruit. Pleased with its taste, he devours the berry in two bites.

“I told you, the best around these parts. My strawberries are like no other,” she comments, bagging his purchases.

“Yes, I do like the taste. How much for everything?”

The woman unexpectedly adopts a quieter tone, a gracious smile adorning her face, “For you, nothing. A thank you for what you and your people have done for us. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day when we no longer have to live in fear of those horrible people. Now I can come out here and enjoy the sunshine for however long this old body of mine has left.”

The Mandalorian is taken aback by her generosity.

“Thank you for your kindness,” retrieving his berries, Din bows his head in respect before continuing on his way.

\----

While walking back to the bike parked at the end of road, something catches Din’s eye, stopping him in his tracks.

Before he knows it, his feet carry him to the jewelry filled glass case. The jewels inside reflect the setting sun magnificently. He surveys the pieces, ranging from simple to ornate, golds and silvers and other colors he doesn’t have a name for.

Reaching the bottom of the case, he freezes.

In the display is an earring, small and round and perfectly matching the deep reds and blacks of celebratory robes from his childhood.

He doesn’t know how long he gazes at the jewel, the voice in the back of his head growing louder the longer he stares.

A middle-aged woman greets him nervously from behind the counter.

“He – hello, can I help you, sir?”

“I – yes. That red one there at the bottom of the case, may I take a look at it?” he asks, pointing to the earring.

“Yes, of course. Just give me a moment.”

The woman turns the case and carefully unlocks the glass cover, gently removing the piece from the display. She cautiously places it in Din’s outstretched hand, confused as to why a man covered head to toe in gleaming metal would be looking at jewelry.

Din examines the earring carefully, cradling it in the palm of one hand while turning it over with the fingers of his other, noting the silver setting and how the domed red jewel seems to change color at different angles in the light.

He thinks that maybe now he understands why Vitani was so protective of those little metal studs on her ears.

The woman’s voice interrupts his inner musings, “If you don’t mind me asking, is this a gift for someone?”

Looking back to his palm, “No, it’s for me actually,” he states calmly, still entranced by the tiny little opal nestled in his hand.

“Oh! Well, it is a beautiful piece. I’m sure it would look lovely on you, sir.”

Raising his head, the woman can’t see the conflict painted on his face beneath the beskar.

“…I’ve never worn earrings before,” he admits dejectedly.

“I see. Um, we have the tools needed to pierce your ears here if you’d like. I can do it for you today, but um…you would need to remove your helmet.”

“I – I can’t remove my helmet. Is there a way for me to do it myself? If I had the necessary tools?”

The woman studies him, he is by far her most unusual customer, but the way he regards the ring is intriguing, so delicately as if something precious, like a memory he doesn’t want to forget.

Her eyes soften and she smiles warmly as she begins rifling through boxes and cases behind the counter.

“Of course. While it’s recommended to be done professionally, especially your first, it is possible to do by yourself,” placing a small plastic bag on the counter, pointing to the item, she explains, “This is the tool here, a hollow needle. It’s hollow because after you insert the needle into the skin, you want to place the ring into the front end and push all the way through until the ring is securely in your ear. Then remove the needle and attach the backing to the ring so it stays in place.”

Reaching into another container, she retrieves another bag, even smaller than the previous.

“For that earring, it has a threaded end, so the entire earring comes in two pieces. That means the backing is similar to a screw, once you have the ring in place, just screw the backing to secure it and you’ll be done.”

Din listens to the woman intensely, mentally noting all the steps and pieces he needs to do this properly.

She continues to walk him through the process, gathering the items he needs and explaining each piece in depth, how to sterilize, proper technique, and aftercare. He appreciates that she also gives him a pamphlet and scribbles little notes in the margins for him.

“I’d recommend a bacta spray if you have it, right after piercing, then twice a day in the morning and night, and it should be fully healed in two days tops,” she reiterates.

Her face scrunches as she mentally runs through her checklist once more. Satisfied, she turns back to her metal customer.

“That should be everything. If you have any questions, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Din says.

He hands over the credits, trading the bars for the delicate pieces of silver and red.

“This is too much! I couldn’t possibly accept all of this,” she gasps, trying to return the extra credits to him in vain.

“Please. I appreciate you taking the time to help me. You deserve it,” he explains gently, but leaveing no room for argument.

“I – thank you, sir,” the woman says simply.

Bowing his head in thanks, Din departs, leaving the woman behind, still stunned by his generosity.

\----

It’s just past nightfall when Din returns to the stronghold.

Foregoing dinner, he retreats to his room and strips off his armor and clothes. Sitting on his bed, he absentmindedly eats a handful of the berry mixture as he reads and rereads his pamphlet, committing each step to memory.

After a quick shower, Din prepares the tools and ring pieces. Sterilizing everything over the candle’s flame, he regards the cooling metal sitting atop the counter of his fresher.

He tries to talk himself out of doing this, but each time his eyes roam over the red opal, it further strengthens his resolve.

Din cleans and marks his right ear with the supplies from the vendor then carefully washes his hands.

Picking up the needle and cork he pillaged from an empty wine bottle in the kitchen, he adjusts himself in the mirror. Turning his head and straining his eyes so he has the best angle and view, he gingerly presses the needle to the black dot on his lobe.

Taking a deep breath, he quickly pushes the metal through his flesh and into the cork.

It isn’t painful, per se, more like an intense pinch that throbs and throbs in agitation.

Retrieving the opal, Din carefully inserts the jewel into the needle and pushes the rest through his lobe, his face twitching in discomfort the entire time. He quickly places the needle and cork on the counter and attaches the back piece of his earring, twisting his fingers as the it screws into place.

He feels the sting of the bacta as he sprays the front and back of his lobe, the healing substance already taking effect and dulling the throb of his ear.

Bracing his hands on the counter, Din leans forward and takes in his reflection.

The red opal shimmers beautifully against the tan skin, the color always changing between various shades of red with each subtle shift of his head.

Din thinks back to when he celebrated Life Day with his parents, about how proud they would be to don the red robes year after year. As he grew, his mother would be ecstatic that he would need new robes. She would spend days making adjustments to the cloth so that they would fit him just right, the alterations in tandem to the horizontal marks on his doorframe, noting how each year he was taller than the last.

Standing to his full height, he stares at the mirror, taking in his features.

Bits and pieces of his mother and father reflect back at him.

For the most part, Din knows he greatly resembles his father. He traces a hand over his jawline, the beginnings of a beard evident by the rough patchy hairs beneath his fingertips. Dimly, he remembers complaining to his father about his beard at some point, that it tickled each time he would give him a kiss goodnight.

But his eyes, they’re his mother’s eyes. From the round shape down to the dark brown irises. If he tries hard enough, he can almost imagine it’s her looking back at him, peering into his soul in that mysterious way of hers.

His gaze drifts down and falls on the figure resting against his bare chest, the mythosaur pendent his _buir_ gifted to him when he swore the Creed. Up until now, the pendant and his helmet have been his most prized possessions, a symbol of his chosen heritage and future.

Now things are different.

It took a little girl with pigtails and a dark red opal to remind him that those who are gone will always live on in you. He doesn’t have to choose between his parents and the Mandalorians, they are both equal parts of who he is, he just needed to realize it.

His face erupts into a grin, knowing that they would be proud of him.

\----

After breakfast the next day, Din is worried when Vitani is nowhere to be found in the common room. Considering how restless she seemed yesterday, he would have expected her to be here.

Passing through the entrance, the Mandalorian heads to the group of scouts waiting at the edge of the tree line.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a group of foundlings, their laughter echoing in the courtyard. One of them seems to be swinging something wildly, trying to hit the others as they run in circles around each other, playing a game of some sort.

All of a sudden, he hears someone shouting his name.

“Din! Din!”

Turning to the ruckus, he finds Vitani running towards him with Squishy flailing behind her.

When she comes to a stop, she bounces excitedly at his arrival.

“You’re back!”

Amused by her enthusiasm, Din laughs, “I told you I was coming back, didn’t I?”

“You did, but still, I had to check,” she fires back at him.

“Are you calling me a liar, kid?” he teases.

“I’m not a kid! I’m a Mandalorian!” Vitani exclaims, just before swinging Squishy, hitting him in the arm with the toy Hutt.

Din smirks beneath his helmet proudly, “Yeah, you are.”

\----

_Never forget where you come from._

**Author's Note:**

> This is story is meant to chronicle big events in Din's life through piercings. If that's not really your speed, sorry!
> 
> I also have another story in the works for Cara's counterpart, but we'll see how that goes. 😉
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and let me know what you think!
> 
> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://flipredmonkey.tumblr.com)
> 
> P.S. I am not a professional piercer...I just have a few and can appreciate how they look.


End file.
